by HAL

Copyright© 2017 by HAL

Sex Story: He was an exchange student to the USA, and Coach took an instant dislike to him and 'volunteered' him to help the Cheerleader team. It went from bad to very good then.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft   Consensual   School   Sports   Anal Sex   Masturbation   Oral Sex   .

Cheerleaders have a reputation for empty-headed, shallow, nymphomaniacal, pretty, bimbo-ness; Chris thought; but that wasn’t true. Well not only true, perhaps, he thought, perhaps they were like he’d seen in films? But he hadn’t seen too much evidence here in Smallville, NowhereSpecial County. It was also clear they were dedicated to this ‘art’ or ‘sport’ or whatever it was. He’d come over on an exchange. “Anybody want to switch from learning about proper stuff to learning about how to chew gum and shoot guns?” his teacher had said – Mr. Chivers wasn’t a fan of the USA, he wasn’t a fan of France (‘Garlic smelling pissoirs’), Italy (‘Pizza is not a valid culture’), Germany (‘full of Germans’), Mexico (‘stupid hats’), or anywhere really that wasn’t able to deliver a pint of warm bitter in a jug with a packet of pork scratchings on the side (‘pork scratchings, the food of kings’). This all explained why Mr. Chivers was the size of a house and lived alone. Chris had said he was interested. Some unlucky schmuck had gone the other way to Dirtyford Grammar School, Sussex and was now learning about saveloy and chips.

Just like in his own country, women were downgraded, or men were upgraded. In the UK women kept house whilst men did the important work of bringing in the money. In the USA boys played football and had their brains kicked out, but they were heroes; girls jumped up and down with pom-poms. No girl football teams.

But these girls were fit, in both senses of the word it was true. They were members of the team because they were pretty; perky tits, tight arses in short skirts. Definitely some questionable psychology here, he thought. Girls need to look pretty to succeed, boys need to be built like brick shithouses to be ‘the jocks’. But they were physically fit too; star jumps, somersaults and stuff means you have to have stamina; and these girls practiced, practiced, practiced. ‘Or practised, practised, practised’ he thought ‘depending on whether you are American or English’.

Why was he observing them more than the average boy (and plenty of average boys happily watched these girls flashing their knickers with gay abandon – well presumably not gay abandon, though it wasn’t certain. He stopped thinking and went back to watching)? When he arrived, Coach took an immediate dislike to him.

The cheerleaders had asked if anyone could help with ‘their equipment’ – queue lots of ribald comments from boys when they were asked for a volunteer. No one offered to be a helper for a load of girls. Then Chris arrived, he was a runner, not a team player. “You can help them.” Said Coach. When he saw what was required, he didn’t mind too much, and some of the boys began to realise that he had quite a good deal. He carried out their box of pom-poms, bottles of water and sticks for chucking in the air. He followed them out, getting a really close up view of their tight little bottoms, especially when they bent over to retie their shoes. Yes, he had a good deal. Once he had laid out their stuff, he went running. He ran round the track for 50 minutes, then he carried their stuff back. Most of the fit boys had to play in teams, the unfit ones had to stand on the field and try and avoid being flattened by the jocks. Chris got to run. So did some of the others of course, some of the real athletes. They were another elite. Chris wasn’t a member of an elite, he was visiting limey prick as far as Coach was concerned.

Coach didn’t like Brits. Could have been his historicity – his name was O’Halligan, his family were driven from their impoverished plot of bog by the bastard English, so he said. Chris – who liked history – would have pointed out that they were starving on their plot of peatbog land growing spuds for a family that kept getting bigger because Catholics can’t say no to sex; but he didn’t get the opportunity so that was one reason Coach didn’t have to hate him. It could have been because he came back after WWII with a pregnant GI bride who pissed off with someone else when she saw the two-bit town that Coach O’Halligan lived in. Or it could have been because Chris was a bit of a smart arse and was heard comparing football ‘load of jocks with shit for brains dressed in armour trying to kill the one brain cell they have left’ with rugby ‘man’s game of strong men with nothing to protect themselves but a box in their shorts if they’re lucky’. He was only joking, but Coach didn’t take kindly to it. Anyway, Coach lumbered the Brit with the job of helping a load of silly prissy girls carry their pom-poms; and he got even more pissed off because Chris didn’t seem to mind.

Running round, he had time to observe the routines; you have to do something when you run round and round a track, else you go crazy.

One routine – the pyramid – kept collapsing sideways. “Excuse me, I think the problem is lateral stability.”

“Excuse you what?!” Lisa said, hands on hips in a serious aggressive stance – the team captain, that’s what they called her. She was tough, stunningly pretty but tough. Genna had already suggested that but she had been shouted down; Lisa ran a tight ship not a democracy.

“If you look at it from afar you can see it kind of slides sideways”

“From afar?” Lisa was building up to an explosion for this posh English twat “Well, now mister know everything, suppose you show me?” Maybe the sarcasm was lost in the language difference, maybe she was being aggressive but really did need some help. Whatever, he said okay and moved into the place of the girl at the end of the bottom row. They went through the routine, which he followed well, he had had plenty of time to see what they did. The fact that the bottom row put a hand on the next rows bottoms to boost them up and then held on with a hand on a girl’s inner, upper thigh; well this was all lost in the automatic following of the sequence until the pretty, brown haired girl found her bottom being felt by the boy and then his hand up her skirt. He made sure not to go too far and she accepted it, for now.

“See? You are all standing one leg in front of the other. Looks great, but no sideways strength”

“You look stupid standing with your legs apart”

“Well, why not have the end two stand open legged and the middle ones front and back”

“Rachel, swap with this boy and see what we look like” Lisa wasn’t entirely un-open to ideas.

They all dropped down and he went to the other end of the line where Rachel – the deputy captain – stood, she would stand back to see whether the ascetics worked. They repeated the action and another girl got the sudden thrill of a male hand squeezing her bottom and sliding much further up her skirt than her boyfriend had been allowed to go. Kimmy was a Baptist and a very, very good girl (which was odd when she was allowed to show off her body in such figure hugging, revealing costume; but that was cheerleading for you), she wouldn’t admit it, but she really liked that hand so close to her crotch. She actually started to go damp at the feeling. She knew she was safe, out in the open like this. That was the difference, when Terence tried it when he was walking home after Young Church, she knew she probably wasn’t safe, so she stopped him at 2 inches above the knee. She still liked it though.

Chris made a sterling attempt not to look up while he stood there. “Well?” Lisa shouted

“Yeah, it looks okay actually. And the pyramid isn’t shaking either.”

“Glad to help” was all he said, and ran back off to the track. But after that he started to get drawn in. They were practising for the regional competition. “How can this be a competition? This can’t be a sport” he said

One of the brighter students rounded on him – you could be bright in the team, as long as you were pretty too. She was, she was also good at Math and Physics, but she had perky bust, slim waist and tight bottom, her face was good too so she was in. “Who decides what is or isn’t a sport? Rugby started when a boy picked up the ball and ran, yes? Was that a sport then or a foul? What about cricket? My God! [Baptist blanched] Sorry Kimmy! But cricket is a game played in slow motion for three or four days. A load of grown men stand around a field and play catch occasionally. I mean come on!”

Chris looked at her for a few seconds in silence then replied “Yeah, yeah okay. You’re right” he thought she had a point, but not a good one. But he also thought he didn’t want to annoy these girls, they were far too much fun to be around to get kicked out for having an opinion.

So, when Melanie had to go to the doctor “Oh, hope it isn’t serious”

“Oh, just women’s problems, you know” No, actually he didn’t. That could mean anything from needing an abortion to having an ingrowing pubic hair for all he knew; but it was a perfect riposte because no man or boy in the history of history had ever responded “what kind of women’s problem?” Yes, so when she had to go early, he helped out by taking her place. He wasn’t as good, of course not, but it meant they could all still practice.

And when Jolene had to have her new brace fitted he stood in for her. Most of the time he just replaced the girl’s place, but sometimes they moved a few more people around. So in the pyramid he was always on the bottom rather that the top because he might be too heavy. Actually he was probably lighter than some of the girls, he was thin and fat free and they – well Ruth especially, had several pounds of attractive fatty tissue straining their shirts at the front. He didn’t mind that, he quite liked the ‘benefits’ it came with. But he learnt to high kick quite well, he learnt to do a passable splits, and he learnt to do a somersault. He still didn’t understand why these teenagers would happily do a handstand and show off their brightly coloured knickers to hundreds of hungry males and yet in their normal clothes they’d be mortified if a breeze blew their skirts up. But he went with the flow; and he felt more young girl arse than most teenagers.

Coach still hated him.

The regional competition was getting closer, but first came the big Penta. The Penta School Athletics Meeting – PSAM officially, but everybody called it the Penta. The big local meeting of the five schools in the city. It meant a lot to everybody. Lincoln High did NOT like to lose.

“Chris, you got a minute?” This was Young Coach, Assistant Coach Bryan, everybody called him Young Coach, though nobody had the courage to call his superior Old Coach. “You aren’t competing I know. We have a problem. Our 400 metre relay is down to three men. Max has pulled out.” Actually Max had been pulled out, he was in the local gaol awaiting arraignment after offering to sell an undercover cop drugs. These days he would be taking performance enhancers, then it was only the usual street drugs. Not like he was a cheat or something. “I’ve seen you run, you could take his place.

Look, no pressure. I just don’t want to have to scratch and come last because we have no team” Failure to field a team meant no points, having a team at least got you a point. “You’d be third man, you just need to run round the track once without dropping the baton. Please?” Young Coach didn’t order, he reasoned, he wouldn’t have even born a grudge of Chris had said no; but he didn’t. He said yes and was taken to meet the rest of the team.

“I’ve never done a relay, no experience of taking the baton, we’ll have to be careful.” He said to the number 2.

“No worries” said Young Coach, “just take it over nice and slow. I don’t even care if we come last, though Watford usually do that, I just don’t want the ignominy of scratching. Again, even Watford put up a team even if they are a bunch of porkers.” Watford County were surrounded by McDonalds, Burger King, Kingy Burger (court case for trademark infringement pending), Clara’s Baps (Clara had been young and pretty with good baps when she opened it, now her baps were rather doughy and floppy – both the bread baps and Clara’s own), and Gloopy’s. It wasn’t surprising that the average weight of the Watford student was north of the median for overweight kids.

So he joined the team and for the first time in years he felt nervous. He didn’t ‘do’ competitions, he liked running for the freedom it gave him. Now he was in that horrible position of being able to let the team down if he fluffed it.

At all events, when the number 2 was coming round they were already in 4th place. Watford were last as was tradition. The hand over was done slowly and carefully so as not to drop the baton; Watford nearly caught up! Then he lit out. He went like a rabbit, not a 400 metre run but a 100 metre sprint. Young Coach looked horrified, he’d never keep that up! And it was true, he did fade, but by that time he’d caught the red shirt and the green, his yellow team shirt was in 2nd place! His lungs were bursting, his legs were jelly and held up from will power alone, his stomach was screaming with a stitch and still he kept going.

“My my!” said Young Coach to Coach O’Halligan “say what you like, but he’s got heart!”

“grhmmph!” replied Coach

The crowd was screaming for him, well the Lincoln High crowd were; Jefferson and Wakefield National were screaming at their runners to run harder. Out in the lead, Paul S. was shocked at the sudden eruption of sound and looked behind. That wasn’t possible! He put on a spurt too though he was far enough in the lead to be safe.

At the handover the number 4 anchors went off like a load of bullets. Chris collapsed to the ground, his body was screaming, he couldn’t breath. Kimmy ran over and said “get help, he’s dying, maybe he needs the kiss of life?”

He looked up and managed to wheeze “From you? Yes, yes I do.” He briefly lost interest in the race, as did a lot of the crowd.

She bent over, incidentally revealing her cheerleaders official panties to a very appreciative section of the audience, and gave him a long kiss. It wasn’t really a kiss of life, but it did help revive him. She stood up, realised she just kissed him in front of several hundred on-lookers, reddened, straightened her short skirt, and then helped him up.

“Well” said Rachel to herself, “Seems he may not be gay then”

“Well done” said Young Coach, “that was an impressive run.

Here” he gave him some water as they sat on a bench. “Don’t suppose you’d be up for the 3000 later as well?”

“Derek Jones is our runner, he’s likely to win”

Derek joined them “I’m the only runner from Lincoln High. Jefferson and Wakefield both have two entrants. One can set the pace for the other to follow. They could out pace me that way. I’ve seen you run; you do middle distance well. You could set the pace and then drop back. I’d stand a better chance that way.”

Chris suddenly stiffened, “urggh!” and fell to the ground. He had a cramp. “As ... you ... can ... see, my legs are ... a bit unwilling” Two more of the cheerleaders came over.

“Can we help?”

“He needs his legs massaged to get them ready for action again. I’ll do it” said Young Coach. He had the knowledge and experience to do it right, but before he could start, the two girls were rubbing a leg each. They were happily working up very near to the top and then back down. ‘Damn’ thought the coach, ‘no girls ever did that for me!’ Derek was looking amazed as well, he wondered what he had to do to get that attention. In the stands some of the boys looked with envy as the two girls worked on Chris with enthusiasm and smooth hands. Luckily their bodies blocked his erection from all but their own view.

“Chris, you might want to umm, lay the tent pole down?” said Sindy, a particularly well-developed girl who was leaning over him. Her t-shirt had flopped forward and he had a clear view down the top. It was hardly surprising he was erect really. He smiled at her, telling himself he appreciated her for more than a magnificent rack, which was so pleasantly visible. Sindy smiled back, she liked being appreciated for her magnificent rack, though she wasn’t aware just how much was on display at that moment.

The race was 3000 metres. That’s a lot of 400 metre circuits of the track. Initially the runners might all bunch up, but the question was how to set the pace that suited different running styles. They agreed, Chris would set a pace to burn off some of the slower runners. They would try and stay in the pack and tire themselves early. Derek would just sit in the pack for the first three quarters before ramping up the pace. By that time Chris would be fading.

The first part of the race went to plan, Simeon Van Beele followed him step for step for 1000 metres and then began to fade. He was a strong runner, but not exceptionally fast, what he could do was sprint at the end. Now he found he had burned himself too much, too early. Terence Blacker stayed up with Chris much better. Field split into two. Chris began to drop a little and finally Derek moved up. With 800 to go Derek moved into the lead and began to pull away. He wasn’t a sprint finisher but he was fast, he was running nearly as fast as if it was only an 800 metre race.

Chris dropped to 3rd, then fourth and found himself beside Simeon, who was putting on a supreme effort. They looked at each other and, competitors though they were, they understood each other. Both moved up a gear and slid into 3rd and 4th for the final 400. As the metres ticked away it was as if they were communicating telepathically. At 200 they both kicked at the same moment, the guy in 2nd found two boys steaming past and had no energy to recover; his dreams of coming second shattered. With 75 to go, Derek crossed the line well in front to a cheer and then realised that the cheering was going on. He looked round to see the two boys running hard towards the line. Simeon edged in front, Chris was fading now, but he heard Simeon shout “Come on! Keep up!” They crossed the line in 2nd and 3rd and fell to the ground laughing. Then they got up and hugged each other and the stands erupted. This was after all meant to be a friendly competition between some local schools, not the life or death that the coaches painted it.

Coach watched the celebrations and responded “hrmmph” and walked away.

Chris had moved from zero to hero. He had been a team player. Young Coach told him he didn’t need to help with the cheerleaders any more. But he liked doing that, he really didn’t want to become a full-time member of the athletics group. His get out clause was that he was only there temporarily. Soon he’d be going back to England so they really couldn’t rely on him. Coach just said he always knew the Limey Prick couldn’t be trusted. Lisa, though, found a new respect for this boy who was more than just the wimpy kid who helped them out.

The regional competition was a few days away, then just three, then two. The girls became manic in their practicing. He helped where he could, but they were practicing every day now, he hadn’t the time. So the Wednesday morning he was taken by surprise.

“Chris! We have a crisis!

Mandy has broken her ankle. Stupid stupid bitch” which didn’t seem that sympathetic “she fell down a step, stupid stupid bitch! She wasn’t looking. Stupid –”

“Yeah, I get that. What can I do?”

“We need you to stand in”

“Yeah okay, but ... well, you won’t be able to train someone up in time will you?”

“No, that’s what I just said. We need you to stand in”

“What? No, wait. You don’t mean in the competition do you. No, no way! I helped out in the training, but ... no, sorry. No” The conversation carried on for a while, but he was adamant. It was one thing helping in a practice session and the perks (hand up a girls bum) were good, but doing for real in front of millions (his imagination ran away with him), a boy in a cheerleader team! No, that was too much.

Thursday came, the day before the two day competition. The girls all came and pleaded. There was no-one else, they had a chance of a good place – first, second or third got them to the state finals. They would have to scratch! “You did it for the relay team”

“That was a bit different”

Finally, Lisa brought out her trump card. No-one was under any impression he was gay now. Two weeks ago an over ambitious pyramid had collapsed and, as it did so the girl on the top had reached out for anything as she fell. What she found was Ellen-Sue’s tee-shirt, the neck ripped and Andrene carried on down, pulling the tee-shirt and bra with her. Ellen-Sue found herself under a heap of bodies, Chris found his face buried into Ellen-Sue’s naked breast. When they all got up he apologised and promptly gave Ellen-Sue his shirt, but there was no mistaking the stiffy he had under his shorts. No, definitely not gay. “Chris, a word in private”

“It won’t help”

“Look, this is my last year, I want to go out on a high, not be remembered as the girl whose team couldn’t even make the regionals –”

“I know, but –”

“shut up! Listen. I’ll do anything”

“What do you mean?”

She looked at him, and then he knew what she meant. She meant anything!

“You can’t be serious, I mean, this is just a competition. I mean...”

“I’ll worry about how serious I am. Up to you, the offer is there” Actually, she had decided that he wasn’t such a loser as she thought. He had shown he was a sporty type so she wasn’t as down on him. The previous year her boyfriend had wanted to do all sorts, but she had said no, just straight sex, missionary style. Now she wondered, what would boys want at graduate school? Maybe she should know what she liked and what she didn’t, maybe ... This boy was going to be gone soon, he seemed okay, probably not too crazy, she could try some stuff. And she definitely didn’t want to lose this competition by defaulting.

“Well ... I don’t have to wear a skirt do I?”

“No, well, we’ll get some shorts in the right colours” In the event, what they did was sew a seam down the middle of a skirt and put in some sown down pleats. To any careful observation, he looked stupid. Luckily few were looking at him after the initial laughter.

The organising committee at first refused to countenance the substitution. It couldn’t be allowed, but it was in the rules; it shouldn’t be allowed, it was only temporary; it would be ... oh okay then. And so it was agreed.

When he appeared on day one, he almost died of embarrassment; there was a wave of laughter and then the announcer explained that this was a late change to the team brought on by an unfortunate injury. Then the adrenaline took over; he wasn’t as good as Mandy, but he kept the team together. Where was he to sleep? They had booked a load of twin rooms at a motel; Mandy’s roomy hesitated, then made the offer that he could share. “No way! Rachel, you take Mandy’s place and Chris will share with me. If anybody’s going to get into trouble for sharing with a boy, it should be me.” This was Lisa, she hadn’t forgotten her promise, but also she was genuinely stepping up to take responsibility, she was the captain and it was her call.

“I can sleep in a car, no problem” said Chris

“Good, right, thanks. And no! We want you fresh and bushytailed, not smelling like an armpit. The beds are two singles, not a double. It’ll be fine” She meant it’ll be fine tonight, she wasn’t thinking about the Saturday. She had decided that she would keep her side of the bargain after the competition was over, Saturday night, and before the results were announced on Sunday.

They progressed to day 2 with a good score. Not a great one, but good enough to be judged in the final on the Saturday. That day was the most stressful for all of the young girls (and Chris); no-one wanted to cock-up. That day Chris got it. He understood that any competition becomes the central thing in your life, more important than life or death. And he knew he was holding them back, after the final display he apologised for being so weak; he hadn’t even thought about where his hands had been, so in the zone was he.

“Don’t be silly, you were great. You stepped up and helped us out more than we could have expected; we’re all really grateful” This comment was made by several of the girls, and punctuated each time with a hug and a kiss. Not a girly hug leaning in to not touch too much, no this was a proper hug, breasts squashed against his body, lips synced to his, a couple of times tongues synced as well. He felt better after that.

They wanted to celebrate the end of the competition; but at the same time, since the results were announced the following day, it felt wrong to over-do the celebrations. Finally a team dinner at an Italian restaurant was agreed upon. After some discussions, the girls, most of whom had been eating salads for months to be slim, were persuaded that a pizza was called for; or pasta. Some looked like they were being really daring in digging in to a mound of carbohydrate.

“What we really need is a glass of wine to go with the meal” said Chris. There was shocked silence. They were all underage. The restaurateur – a genuine Italian - overheard and came over to talk; he was tired of careful American laws that let kids suddenly into drunken revelry at 21. He could see they were sensible people and he and Chris agreed that the European slightly more laid back view on drinking was more civilised. He sent over a couple of large carafes of red ‘cherryade’. A couple of the girls were doubtful, they were good Christian girls from abstemious families (again, Chris wondered how they squared that with their figure hugging, revealing costumes); but even they were persuaded that a single glass would probably not result in them being, as Lisa graphically put it “drug-addled sluts willing to sell themselves for another drink”.

“Pity” said Chris, and got punched by several girls.

So they had a nice meal, and walked back in a giggling gaggle and made their way to their rooms. Chris got another round of hugs and kisses, which was delightful, and closed the door.

“Well?” Said Lisa

“Well? ... Oh, that? Look, of course I won’t try and collect. Why would I?”

“We made a deal, mister. I expect you to keep to your side” This was an unexpected turn-up. He thought she would be pleased to be released, he hadn’t realised she was seeing this as a no-strings opportunity. She was actually already wet from anticipation of what she thought she might have to do or allow to be done. She looked at him and opened her arms as if to say “Come and get me”

He looked, re-addressed his expectations for the evening (which had been maybe a bit of a snog, maybe ogle her bum in her pyjamas) and smiled. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Not got one, you must have heard I went out with the football captain last year. So I’m not a virgin if that’s what you worried about. This year though, nobody asked. I think they all thought I was reserved, trouble is, even if I fancied Mike” the current captain “which I don’t, he’s totally monogamous with Avril. So I’ve been available all year.”

“So all year you’ve been ... celibate?”

“What do you think?”

“Well ... I think you’ve been fingering yourself for a whole year!” He was deliberately blunt so see what she said.

She went red “I’ve never told anyone, but yes, I’ve satisfied myself for a year”

“Well, okay. That’s good. I mean good that you like it. Are you really up for doing what I ask?” she nodded “Come here, I’ll undress you”

“I can undress. Oh, you want to do it?” He lifted her arms and pulled her tee shirt up and over her head. Her breasts were lovely, he was nearly distracted, but stayed focused. He knelt and undid and removed each shoe and sock; then, with slightly trembling hands he slid up her legs and pulled her panties down. He lifted her skirt, leant in and kissed her groin. Yes! That was one of the things she wanted to try. She’d never had a boy lick her out, Chris had never done it either but he was keen (and so was she now). He nuzzled into her shaved slit and held her buttocks, his fingers stroking her behind. She tasted of something he couldn’t say; a new taste. It was exciting but not overly pleasant; he didn’t mind. Then he said:

“Now lie on the bed ... no as you are, leave your bra and skirt.”

“I don’t want to get your ‘stuff’ on my skirt”

“Don’t worry about that. I want to watch you rub yourself”

“What?” She hadn’t thought of that kind of expectation

“I want to watch you as a piece of live porn, I want to watch you feeling yourself and rubbing yourself and enjoying yourself. Don’t worry, later I’ll be making use of your body” He smiled, he was starting to realise the potential for the night.

She closed her eyes and began to feel herself, actually it felt rather erotic to know that she was masturbating herself while someone was watching. He watched her as he undressed. Halfway through she opened her eyes and saw him gently stroking his erect prick. He wasn’t rubbing himself, it was more by way of a loving caress. She closed her eyes again and found herself getting more excited. Then she came with a rush and a sigh. As she relaxed she thought ‘will he want to push in now? I’m wet but I’ll be tight’. What actually happened was she felt his face once more burrowing between her legs. “Oh, oh! I’m really sensitive!”

He looked up, “Good, I want to lick you until you come again”

“Alreaeeddy? I ddddoooon knoooooww ooo ... Okay” at first she was going to ask him to wait, but there was no holding back, he was licking deep into her and then sliding up and over her clitoris. She felt her heart rate start to rise, her breathing got faster. His tongue moved back and forth; she said nothing but he could tell she was getting more excited. He’d have liked guidance on how to do it, he only knew the theory; but then, she had said he could do what he liked so if it was wrong well she’d have to put up with it. In the event, being still sensitive and hot helped her reach a second orgasm; her contractions squirted something onto his face. It might have been from that other hole, he realised, and didn’t care. He looked up her body from his view spot between her legs, her skin glistened with sweat. With barely a delay he began to stroke her.

“Oh, no, please, not again. I couldn’t”

“I’m sure you can, I’m pretty sure you will” He grinned and continued gently to caress her tender skin at the top of the legs and across the top. She groaned. She was in genuine distress, but unable to do anything to stop him. Even the light touch was tingling her and she knew she’d need harder rubbing to reach orgasm, she wanted to avoid it but already was starting to be desperate to come.

“Oh my God! I ... aaaahh” It was short, concise and nice to be over; surely now he’d want her? “I need a wee, excuse me”

“I’m coming too”

What? OMG, he was a pervert! All boys are, she supposed. Still, she’d rubbed herself up as a show for him, having a pee didn’t seem so bad. She sat down and he made her open her legs so he could see. “You are really are a pervert”

“Thanks. I admit it. I want to watch a girl peeing. I want to see it coming out. Oh, shit! “ he dropped his hand down to her “I want to feel it on my fingers”

“Fuck! I mean, goodness! You are ... disgusting” She was smiling. She found it quite nice to feel her pee splashing off his fingers onto her legs. Her last boyfriend had been quite squeamish about all that body stuff. He wanted her to suck him off, but wouldn’t go anywhere near her; after all her ‘stuff’ was a bit gross and she might pee as well; on the plus side he thought anal was gross too so she hadn’t had to fend him off. Did she say ‘plus side’ she thought to herself; not really, she was curious.

“You have an electric toothbrush?”

“Yes, you want to borrow it to clean your teeth?” He just smiled, wiped her with some paper and flushed before she stood up, laughing. “You bastard!” Then he followed her back into the other room, told her to lay down ‘at last’ she thought, and then heard the buzz of the toothbrush. Moments later she felt the vibrating buzz as it started to massage her outer lips. “Oh Fuccck NO!” He sat on her, just below her bust and bent over to his task of vibrating her to yet another orgasm. The intense feelings from the electric toothbrush overwhelmed any resistance and she found herself reaching a climax again. She was exhausted. Wet with perspiration all over and especially wet between her legs from the unbearably over-stimulated genitals. She felt like a piece of damp lettuce, like she had been forced to train all day non-stop.

Now he looked at her with a grin. He had really enjoyed pushing her to her limit; now he would enter her and have his own first orgasm. Finally he took off her skirt and asked her to take off her bra (he was aware just how out of the mood it could make a girl if a boy struggled with a bra strap) She looked at him and gave a little moan “I’m sore, tired and sweaty, couldn’t we wait? Couldn’t I have a wash?”

He shook his head, lay on top of her and said “I want you all hot and sweaty. I’d suggest you guide me in.” He also wanted to feel she was unwilling, he was conquering her. At least it was because she had been made to come four times, not because she was some perfect virgin. He smiled again “After I come, you can lick me clean okay?”

She sighed “Okay, whatever you want” She had to admit, used to being in charge as she was, she was finding his control surprisingly fun. Perhaps that was why he had made her have climax after climax; she was in no position to argue.

He slipped in relatively easily, she was lovely and tight. Tight but well lubricated. The perfect combination – for him. She stifled a groan, it came out as a low moan “You feel so big” Of course he knew it was because her body was reacting against being assaulted after so much attention already, but he’d take the compliment anyway.

His left hand held her shoulder and pulled to ram himself in as far as he could. His right hand started to explore the rest of her body, her breasts, her mouth, and then her bottom. He pushed a finger in a long way and she looked surprised, then a little pained as a second finger followed. Then pulled them out and they returned to her mouth, her mouth and his! He was exploring the bounds of acceptability. She knew, beyond a doubt, that she’d be asked to offer her tight little rosy hole for his pleasure later, she also suspected that some rimming (him or her) might be called upon too.

She was sufficiently sated and worn out to know that, no matter what he did, she wouldn’t come again for a while. This meant she was able to observer him from a slightly detached position, even though he was humping her. She gave little involuntary grunts and he pushed harder and further. As hard and far as he could in fact. She was surprised, she’d thought that Gerry (last year) had been a real he-man but his technique had been mount and fuck, leave and piss. That was it. She’d had to move fast sometimes to be sufficiently aroused to enjoy it. This boy had let her enjoy it, then forced her to enjoy it, over and over before now making it very clear that he was enjoying getting as far up her sweaty little body as he could. She was enjoying the knowledge that she was such a turn on. She heard each grunt, felt each finger fuck up her arse, twinged with each nipple tweak. She slid a hand down to his bum and – she’d never done this before – found his hole and inserted a finger a little way in. “Oww!” she had longer nails than him

“Stop whinging, you baby!” and she slapped his bottom, what she could reach of it. In response he rammed himself even harder between her sore lips. He came with a load of spunk, noise and pumping. She was laughing to herself, he was so enthusiastic! When Gerry had come the last few times it had been “Oh yeah babe!” and that was it. There hadn’t even been a lot of mess (he wasn’t a big semen machine, Gerry). Chris was different, she was leaking already, she could feel it. And he was definitely more enthusiastic. Of course maybe he’d change with time but at the moment he was winning on points. His next request was already expected. He flopped out with a smile as his erection dropped to a semi.

He turned onto his back, there was barely room for the two on a single bed, and gently but firmly pushed and cajoled her down to his shining and sticky cock. She took a breath and took it in. It wasn’t as awful as she thought it might be, not quite. She could taste the two flavours and realised she was tasting herself and him. She worked at it, helped by his hands on her head. He didn’t want her to pull off just because she thought he was clean. As she worked on cleaning him very thoroughly, she realised why.

As she moved up and down, the organ began to extend and stiffen. My God! She thought, already, my vag won’t be able to cope. But she was making an assumption there. This time it wasn’t her vagina he wanted; he was firm and stiff and still he didn’t release her, then she understood. She was actually cool with that. She really didn’t want anything inside her for a while, and she’d already realised that oral would come in at some point. So she carried on and he started to get excited, and she carried on, and he started to make noises, and she carried on and on, and finally he reached a peak and managed to ejaculate a small amount of juice ... and a lot of noise. He liked that second coming (as he called it), it had taken a long time to get there because he had nothing to give really; but that long time had built his excitement. The actual climax he reached hurt little, he had virtually nothing to pump out and the muscles tried desperately to pump at nothing; but the brain sensations were electric. His heart was pounding like a steam hammer. “Ohhhh YES FUCK!!!!!” he shouted. She looked up and said “Shussh!”

“Sorry, you are such a good cock-sucker”

She wasn’t sure if that was a compliment she wanted; she could hardly put it on her CV or use it in an interview “What other qualities do you think you have Lisa?”

“I give really good head” Well, maybe, with the right interviewer.

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